


And They Were Roommates

by WaywardGranger



Category: Voltron - Fandom, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Denial, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, ish, med school au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2020-12-28 17:30:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21140495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardGranger/pseuds/WaywardGranger
Summary: When a certain blue-eyed boy is the only one who responds to Keith's roommate advertisement, he has no choice but to take him in. Little does Keith know, that he's taking in more than he anticipated. Lance ends up being not only Keith's first best friend, but his soulmate, the part of existence that's been a gaping hole he couldn't ignore until they trip and stumble into each other's lives.





	1. Chapter 1

The antiquated, white building stood proudly at the peak of a hill, gleaming in the warm morning sunlight. 

Keith scowled at it as he dragged his feet across his new campus. The box in his hands seemed to gain fifty pounds a minute as he tried to find his apartment building in the monstrously large city. 

The streets were bustling with hundreds of over excited young adults making their way around campus for move-in day. Keith pushed through the crowd, heading in the opposite direction from most students. The tuition almost made him go broke, so there was no way he would’ve been able to afford to live on campus. Shiro, his brother, had helped him find an apartment near campus. It wasn’t cheap, but it was cheaper than all his other options. He’d probably have to take in a roommate, but that was a concern for later. 

A couple of minutes later, Keith found the gloomy, run-down apartment building that he would call home for the next four years. He exhaled loudly and made his way inside, relieved that he’d finally be able to get some rest, but that fantasy quickly shattered as he read the sloppily written sign on the elevator. 

_OUT OF ORDER_

“You gotta be fucking with me,” he mumbled, rolling his head back in disdain. 

He begrudgingly turned and walked towards the stairwell, but stopped at the foot of the first step. His eyes followed the staircases up into the endless spiral of death. 

He lived on the 20th floor. 

Keith almost cried at the thought of walking that far with the dreadfully heavy box of junk in his arms. But what other choice did he have? Lay down and die? That sounded really nice, but something told him he needed to climb the stairs. Maybe because at the end of his treacherous journey there laid his bed. And food. 

It seemed like Keith never really had a choice in much, these days. He furrowed his eyebrows in annoyance and began his trek up the stairs. He was breathless after the second floor, and cursed himself for not working out through his last two years of college. He rolled his eyes. College was the last thing he wanted to think about right now. His mind wandered in an attempt to distract himself from the excruciating pain in his arms and legs, but it also distracted him from the objects unknowingly falling out of his box. 

As he finally reached his floor, he heard a wheezing voice call out to him. He turned around as the speaker came into view from the staircase below. 

“Man, it sure is hard to catch your attention.” A tall boy approached Keith, arms full of various items, some of them falling as he came to a stop in front of him. 

Keith blinked, still coming out of his daze. 

The boy lifted his arms up, pulling Keith’s attention to the objects in his arms. 

Keith stared for a moment, then looked down at the box in his hands, which was surprisingly empty, save a couple of pencils and pens. 

“You’ve been dropping stuff for like, ten floors,” the boy said. “I tried calling out to you, but you seem to be lost in your own world.” He smiled warmly. 

“I’m sorry,” was all Keith managed to say through his exhaustion. How the hell did he manage to lose every single thing in his box? 

“It’s alright,” the boy said, shrugging. 

Keith set the box down on the ground, and started to take the items from the boy’s arms and place them back into the box. It was mostly textbooks, and heavy ones at that. Keith marvelled at his own stupidity. Who doesn’t notice something that heavy falling down a flight of stairs? The rest of the items were trivial: clothes, a phone charger, a lab coat, goggles, stuff like that. 

“You followed me all the way up here?” he asked, as the boy handed him the last textbook. 

“Well, yeah,” he shrugged. “It was a lot of stuff and you didn’t really notice it falling.” He pulled a stethoscope slung around his neck and placed it in the box. 

“Holy shit,” Keith said incredulously. “You didn’t have to do that… but, uh, thanks anyways.”

The boy smiled. “No problem.”

Then, Keith did something he never did. He made small talk. If he wasn’t as exhausted as he was, he would’ve physically cringed at himself. “Do you live here?” he asked, as he tried to pick the heavy box. 

“No,” the boy shook his head. “I was just helping a friend move in, downstairs.”

“Oh, okay.” Keith said, straightening his back and frowning at the box. 

“Here,” the boy moved to pick the box up for Keith. “You starting at Altea Med, too?” he asked, nodding at the stethoscope. 

Keith opened the door to the hallway. “Uh, yeah.” He searched his pockets for his keys. 

They walked in silence through the hallway until they reached Keith’s apartment. He flung open the door and motioned towards the table in the middle of the empty room. 

The boy gently set the box down. “Well, then,” he said, stretching his arms over his head. “Classes start Monday. I guess I’ll see you around.” 

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Keith said. 

The boy walked out the door, then turned. “By the way,” he extended a hand. “My name’s Lance.” 

Keith stared at the outstretched hand, then hesitantly shook it. 

“Keith.”


	2. Chapter 2

Keith almost cried when his alarm went off at 6 am on a Monday morning, and not just any Monday morning, but his first day of med school. 

He grunted as he dragged himself out of bed and to the washroom. He stared at himself in the mirror above the rusty sink of his new apartment. A scowling face with a terrible bedhead stared back at him. That was normal. The eyes though – completely fucking lifeless. Keith’s scowl grew deeper as he looked away and smacked the tap open. 

He grabbed a cold bagel and stuffed it in his mouth on his way out of the door 30 minutes later. The walk to campus was miserable, to say the least. It was too early and cold as hell. Plus, Keith was forced to wear a colour he promised himself he’d never wear: white. 

It was hard to keep up an emo façade if he looked like a walking marshmallow, but first year students were required to wear the abysmal colour. And that gave Keith one more reason to hate his life choices. 

He sat waiting in the classroom amongst 30 or so other nervous students, wishing the day would already be over. He pulled his ugly white coat tighter against himself as he shivered under the scrutinizing glare of the professor that walked in with a sharp “Good morning, Doctors.” 

Keith started at the unfamiliarity of being called by a title he was far from earning. Or deserving, for that matter. 

“Get used to it,” she spat. “The responsibility of this title is insurmountable. If you don’t understand that now, you never will, and might as well walk out that door right now.” 

There was a beat of awkward silence as everyone shifted their eyes around the room, waiting for someone to leave. When no one did, the professor continued. “So, why do a bunch of uneducated, inexperienced adolescents want to become doctors?”

Silence. 

She snapped her fingers at a boy sitting in the first row. “You. Start.”

The boy shifted uncomfortably in his seat, fiddling with an orange bandana wrapped around his wrist. “Uh, well, I want to save lives,” he said. 

The professor scoffed, turning her head to the boy beside him. 

Keith recognized him. He was the boy that helped move his box to his apartment on Friday. What was his name?

He straightened his back. “The human body fascinates me. I’ve always had a desire to learn more and contribute my ideas to the healthcare system.”

The professor raised her eyebrows at his answer, but then moved on to the next person. Everyone had their own reasons to be doing what they were, but no reason was as genuine as the boy who’d helped Keith. And that got him thinking about his own answer. 

Why was Keith doing this? Why was he here, sitting in this room, being addressed as a doctor? All he knew was that he didn’t _want_ to be doing this. Yet, there he sat. 

When his turn came to speak, the boy turned to look at Keith. 

Blue. His eyes were so blue. 

Keith slid down his chair to avoid all the prying eyes on him. “Um,” he struggled to find an answer. “It’s pretty fluid. It’s never the same routine every day,” he lied. Though the statement itself was true, it wasn’t Keith’s real answer. 

The next couple of hours were spent by the impudent professor bombarding Keith with an excessive amount of information that left him, once again, questioning all his life choices. 

He walked out of the class completely exhausted. It was 12pm, and he was ready to call it a fucking day. As soon as he reached his apartment, he dropped dead onto the couch. 

*_Ding_*

He glared at his phone, but then sighed and picked it up, anyways. 

It was an email. A response to the advertisement he’d put up yesterday. The ad for a roommate. 

He closed his phone, deciding to wait a couple more days before replying. Choosing the first person who’d responded would make him seem desperate. And he wasn’t looking forward to sharing his apartment with anyone, anyways. 

So, he waited. A day. Two days. A week. Two weeks. 

But he still had only one reply. 

So, he took the chance. He sent a reply back, asking for an in-person interview. 

He glanced over the email once, probably, and would come to wish he’d paid more attention. The application itself seemed alright. There was no name, though, and the email address was weird. _razzledazzle69@hotmail.com _

_Geez_. 

The day of the interview arrived, and Keith heard a knock on his door exactly as the clock struck 2:00.

“Punctual, much?” Keith mumbled, before opening the door. 

“Well, hello there, roomie.”

Keith’s whole body went into shock. 

It was him. 

Blue.


	3. Chapter 3

Keith could hear his heart thumping hard against his skull, pulsing in his ears, deafening in the silence of the room. 

They’re just _eyes_. A _guy’s_ eyes at that. Why was this making his heart race? Keith racked his brain for answers. Thinking. Desperate. 

Nothing. 

“Caaaan I come in?” Blue asked, breaking through Keith’s introspective daze. 

Shit. How long was he staring? “Uh, yeah.”

Blue smiled the same warm smile that caught Keith off guard the first day they met, a little over two weeks ago. 

Keith closed the door and motioned to the single, rickety chair placed in front of an equally pathetic table. 

He suddenly felt very embarrassed of the state of his apartment. 

“So…” Blue began, taking a seat. 

Keith’s mind blanked out. Shit. Right. This was an interview. _Say something. SAY SOMETHING, KEITH. _ Words. 

What are words?

“Are you hungry?” he asked, mentally facepalming as soon as the words left his mouth. 

_Please say no. Please say no. I have no fucking food. _

“Ah, no I’m good, thanks,” Blue replied, patting his stomach. 

_Thank. God. _

Keith sighed in relief and hovered near the other end of the table, unsure what to do. He stared at the floor, where there should’ve been a second chair. Then, he remembered he only owned one. 

“Do you . . . I don’t mind sitting on the couch,” Blue offered. 

Keith turned to stare at his sad excuse of a couch. “Yeah, sorry,” he mumbled, as they both moved to sit opposite each other on the worn-out ‘couch’. 

“That’s alright, man,” Blue laughed. “I get it. My buddy Hunk, who lives a couple floors down, doesn’t even have a bed. Or mattress, for that matter.” 

Keith started at this boy’s disposition, wondering how he didn’t up and leave the second he stepped foot in the apartment. 

He shook his head and cleared his throat. “Okay, so, uh, I only have a couple of questions.” 

“Shoot.”

“Do you expect to have lots of friends over?”

“Nah. My only friend so far is Hunk, and he has a place of his own.” 

_Oh. So, he’s probably single. _ Keith winced at his own thoughts. Why does he care if this guy’s single??? _Focus, Keith. _

“Cool. Um,” Keith shifted his position, pulling his legs underneath him. “Do you smoke? I have asthma, so-”

“No, don’t smoke,” he smiled. “Or drink,” he added, proudly crossing his arms. 

Keith chuckled. “Good to know. And, last question: is there anything else that I should know about you? Like, habits or pet peeves, or . . .”

Blue thought for a moment, tilting his head to the side, while Keith stared in absolute awe. Not in a creepy way, but in a ‘how is this a real person’ way. He looked away before Blue noticed him being weird. 

“Uh, I spend a long time in the washroom,” he stated, before his eyes went wide and he franticly waved his hands around. “I mean, no, gosh, that sounds weird.” He shook his head and his bangs fell against his forehead. “I have a long skincare routine.” 

Keith held up his hands. “Alright. That’s okay.”

Blue rubbed the back of his neck. “Cuz, lots of people find that annoying, so . . .” he trailed off. 

“I don’t find that annoying,” Keith interrupted. “It’s just skin. Take care of it,” he shrugged. 

Blue dropped his shoulders and smiled. “Thanks, man.”

Keith averted his gaze to the ground, not knowing what to say next. His shitty conversation skills were really coming through, huh?

Thankfully, Blue spoke. “Oh!” he exclaimed, jumping a little. “I also can’t cook.” 

Keith felt his heart drop a little. He was sort of hoping he could find a roommate that could cook, because surprise, surprise, Keith couldn’t cook to save his life. “We’ll figure it out,” he said, trying to sound hopeful. 

“Don’t tell me you can’t cook, either.”

Keith winced. “I’m . . . sorry?”

Blue let out a hearty laugh. “Don’t apologize. Like you said, we’ll figure it out.” 

Keith involuntarily smiled the slightest of smiles. _God, this guy’s contagious. _ He was contagious, not just in his laugh, but in his whole vibe – his energy, his aura. There was something about this boy that felt . . . safe. Safe, yet vulnerable. 

He’d only met this guy twice, and yet, the way he talked and the way he was so _chill_ about . . . everything, was entrancing, for lack of a better word. And Keith wondered how someone could be so honest with the world, so nonexclusive. 

And, over the next four years, he’d come to see, firsthand, just how free-spirited someone as shattered as Lance could be. 

And it would change Keith for the better.


	4. Chapter 4

Keith woke up with a groan. 

_Not this shit again._

He peeled his eyes open and stared up at the ceiling in defeat. Sighing, he tried to roll out the ache in his back and the stiffness of his neck, to little avail. 

He hated sleeping on the floor. It was cold, and hard, and it fucking _hurt_. 

It’s not that he didn’t own a mattress. He did. It was a nice, soft, Queen. One of those that you’d sink right into – it’d swallow you up and make you feel like you’re sleeping on a cloud. 

Maybe that’s why Lance pushed Keith off. Every night. 

Keith rolled his head to the side and watched as Lance slept, splayed out on his stomach like he was making a snow angel. 

Aaaaaaand, maybe that’s why Keith never complained to Lance about it. 

Afternoon sunlight peeked through the corner of the single window of their shared apartment, dancing on the wall in bliss of the new day. 

He watched in undisturbed silence as the light leisurely angled itself to the floor, then crept up the mattress, slowly, taking a breath when it reached the soft angles of Lance’s face. 

No homo, but Lance looked straight up enchanting in the sunlight. 

It bent and curved in all the right ways, sifting over the bangs falling on his face, emanating a twinkling golden on the strands it touched. 

His mouth hung open, drool trailing down his cheek with every breath he took. 

Keith noticed he had freckles, tiny little stars scattered over his nose and cheeks, some so light they seemed to disappear into his skin. 

An angel. 

He looked like a fucking angel. 

What the _fuck_.

Lance stirred, and Keith jumped to his feet in a panic. 

_That was so fucking creepy, you dumbass. _

He mentally kicked himself as he bolted for the washroom, face ablaze for God knows what reason. 

He shut the door and fell lax against it, breathing hard. Looking up at himself in the mirror, he attempted to tell himself to _calm the fuck down._

Keith didn’t need friends right now. Or ever. 

He was done with that shit. 

Lance was a roommate, and he’ll always be just a roommate. Keith wasn’t going to talk to him unless he absolutely had to. He wasn’t going to _look_ at Lance unless he had to. He just wanted to get his degree, then get the hell out of this place. Far, far away, so he could work until he dies. Because, hey, what else is there time to do in this capitalistic hellhole of a world?

There was no time for passions, or trips, or parties. Just study, study, study, find a job, then work until the end of time. 

As much as that _boiled_. his blood, Keith felt powerless to do anything about it. How do you just change the structure of society? Of the world? How do you just live your life, truly and freely, creating and loving, free from any human-made constraints? How do you look forward to a type of future that couldn’t ever exist?

Sure, all of that sounded cheesy and very dramatic, but it was Keith’s reality. He’d never really had anything to look forward to. Ever. 

Nothing in his past was worth hanging on to. 

Nothing in his present charged his soul with excitement. 

Nothing in the future appealed to the desires of his heart. 

Truth be told, he felt pretty lost. 

Like he was stuck dead centre of a circle that dug itself deep into the earth, through the other side, and into the realms of spacetime. Not budging. And the walls were high. So, so high. Made of the decisions made for him, choices he chose but never meant, paths his feet walked but heart fought against. 

He was terrifyingly lost and stuck, and he just needed _someone_ or _something_ to guide him out of the circle. 

Some way to dig a hole, climb up and out, break the walls, anything. A sign that he could finally take charge of his life. 

There was a knock on the door. 

“Hey, buddy, you done yet?”

~  


Keith sat on the mattress eating potato chips for breakfast, crumbs falling everywhere as his mind ran through a list of all the readings and homework he needed to catch up on.

Lance walked out of the washroom, looking certified fresh™, and plopped down next to Keith. “Hey man, can I, uh, talk to you about something?” 

_Oh boy. _

Keith died a little inside as he prepared himself for the strain of human conversation. 

“Sure,” he said, holding the bag of chips up to his eye to check for any stray chips, frowning when he found none. 

“Look, no offence, but you don’t have any furniture.”

Keith didn’t really understand what could be so offensive about that, but he motioned to the single chair and table in the centre of the room, anyways. 

Lance raised an eyebrow. “That hardly counts as furniture.” 

_Touché_

Lance continued. “As nice as it is to share a mattress with you, I’d really like my own, in the separate room. And I think the advance I gave you should cover that, plus a couple more stuff.”

Keith considered. He _did_ feel weird sharing a mattress with Lance, and that’s Keith’s fault for not owning shit before he took in a roommate. Thank _God_ Lance even stayed, and put up with sleeping beside Keith for the past two weeks. 

Most people, no _anybody_ else in Lance’s place would’ve left the moment they stepped foot into the apartment. 

But Lance . . . 

Lance really was something else. 

As much as Keith didn’t want to go furniture shopping, he owed it to Lance. After all, he _was_ his paying roommate. This was Keith’s sad duty. 

But hey, if going furniture shopping with Lance would get this guy off his back, Keith’d take it. 

“Sure,” he sighed. “Let’s go.”

Lance whooped as he jumped to his feet. “Alright!” He tripped as he ran out the door, forgetting his shoes in all his wrongfully placed excitement. 

Keith exhaled deeply through his nose as he stood up. _“This is for your own good,”_ he reminded himself. _ “Do this, then you never have to talk to this guy again!”_ He put on his shoes. _“You’ll be alone again!”_ He grabbed his red jacket. _“Be strong, bitch.”_ And he opened the door. 

~  


Keith couldn’t care less about furniture. It was probably the most boring thing someone could ever go shopping for.

So, when he sat in the passenger seat of Lance’s rundown truck, he had no clue of the pure chaos that would ensue. 

First off, the truck. The godawful truck. 

If Keith had been in a good mood, he would’ve found the aesthetic of the truck to _die_ for. It was like something out of an indie movie- blue paint chipping off in random places, rust eating into the front bumper and around the tires, dirt stuck along the rim. 

But Keith was in a bad mood, so the truck pissed him off. 

_Who the hell owns a truck like this is today’s day and age? What, did Lance live on a farm or something? _

Secondly, this: 

“Okay, Gerald, look both ways before crossing the street- oop, Gerald, oh jeez GeRaLd.”

Lance was loudly commentating on a dog crossing the street, very . . . unceremoniously. 

_What the fUcK is this guy on???_

Keith stared at Lance from the corners of his eyes, not daring to move. _Should he be driving? He seemed fine like, five minutes ago. _

To answer his question, they entered a construction site. 

Lance saw a sign. “RoAd work aHeAd?”

Keith froze. 

Lance turned towards him. “uH, yEaH, I suRe hOpE it dOeS.” 

Keith’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he watched the last of his braincells die. 

_Motherfucker’s quoting vines. _

And it was in that moment Keith prayed for the first time in years, begging whatever entity or power was up there, to grant him the will to make it through the trip. 

Nobody heard him. 

~  


They pulled into the parking spot, and Keith let go a breath of relief.

Lance turned out to be a pretty safe driver, and was impressive at parking. Keith, on the other hand, reluctantly learned to drive a couple of years ago, but he still couldn’t park for shit. 

Though he didn’t want to admit it, Lance was growing on him, despite his annoying, meme-loving personality. 

Hopefully, after this day, Keith could work on reversing that. And by that, he meant not talking to Lance and keeping his distance from any potential acquaintances. 

Keith was pulled from his thoughts as his eye caught the name of the store, hanging above him in taunting, bright red letters. 

HOME SENSE 

He stopped in his tracks, gulping. 

A couple of steps ahead of him, Lance turned around. “What’s wrong?” he asked, following Keith’s eyes to the sign. 

Keith hesitated. What was he supposed to say? “I thought we were going to a furniture store?”

“My man, we’re broke med school kids. We can’t afford _that_ kind of furniture.”

“Oh.”

“The furniture’s way cheaper here. Plus, they’ve got lots of home-y stuff, and, no offence, but the apartment is so bleak, it looks like someone died there,” he placed his hands on his hips in determination. “We need to decorate.”

Keith couldn’t argue with the logic of that, so they walked into the dreaded home improvement store. Lance made a beeline for the mugs section, and Keith followed him, absentmindedly running his fingers along the shelves. 

Keith hated walking through store like these. They were just so . . . _domestic_, and he always felt a weird surge of sadness overwhelm him. Sadness that made him feel like shit. He never really understood why. 

Until now. 

He watched as Lance excitedly browsed mugs and towels and whatnot, piling items into the shopping cart. Items to make their apartment feel cozy. Items to make that place feel like a home. 

They were things Lance had had, before. Things he probably missed. Things Keith would never have. 

And there it was. 

Keith had never really cared about things like that. Home-y things. He’d never had things like that, and he didn’t see himself ever having them, to be honest. 

If the whole doctor thing worked out, which, it _had_ to, Keith would be in his mid-thirties by the time he manages to find a job. He’d spend the rest of his years working at a very demanding job, paying off his student debts, paying bills. No way in hell would he ever have time to date or get married. Maybe even have kids. No way. Plus, he’d never dated before. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but it did make him feel pretty alone. Unlovable, even. 

A loud crash startled him, pulling his attention down to the floor, where Lance had tripped, again, knocking over a bowl of artificial lemons. 

“WeLL, whEn LifE givEs yoU LeMoNs,” Lance said, sheepishly looking up at Keith. 

Keith rolled his eyes, extending a hand to Lance, who gratefully took it. 

“Sorry,” he said, wiping his jeans. “I have a bit of a balance problem.” He tapped his ear, and Keith noticed a piece of plastic behind it, wrapped around the top. A hearing aid. 

“That’s alright,” Keith replied feeling guilty for rolling his eyes, now. 

A store employee came along, tired and annoyed, charging them for breaking the bowl. They paid, then went on browsing, but not without a stern warning from the employee. 

Keith trailed after Lance, who ducked into the art section of the store. 

Keith’s heartrate picked up. He loved art. He loved art so much. This was the only section of the store that he enjoyed, but that didn’t last long, as he rounded the corner aisle to Lance holding up an abysmal canvas, smile so big on his face, it was blinding. 

“Is that fucking sad Pepe?” Keith asked. “On a _canvas_?” 

“This is _art_,” Lance stated. 

“No, it’s not,” Keith said, flatly. 

“Yes, it is, watch this,” Lance held the canvas up next to his face, which scarily enough, had the _exact_ expression as the meme. 

Keith made his best “what the fuck” face, at a total loss for words for the living, breathing meme that was his roommate. 

Then, Lance’s expression changed to pouty lips and huge, round eyes. “Please?”

Keith felt like he was in some sort of acid trip induced sitcom. “You’re paying for that,” he rolled his eyes, giving in. 

Lance cheered, dropping the canvas into the cart, and Keith cringed at the thought of _that_ hanging on a wall of his apartment. Well, _their_ apartment. 

The whole roommate thing was turning out to be way more than Keith had bargained for. How the hell was he going to survive four years with this guy? He shook his head, too tired to think, and instead resigned himself to following Lance around the store, crying for joy when they’d finally finished two hours later. 

Back in the parking lot, Keith struggled to tie the couch and mattress in the back of the truck. “Fuck,” he whispered to himself when the rope wouldn’t cooperate. 

Lance laughed. Not condescendingly, but like he was amused. “Here,” he said, hopping into the back of the truck, taking the rope from Keith, effortlessly finishing the job. 

Keith tied the red flags to the ropes, jumping off the truck with a huff. “Okay, I think we’re good.” 

~  


“Well, shit,” Lance said, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

Keith dropped his shoulders. “Now what?” 

They both stared at the mattress jammed between the elevator doors, then at each other. 

“Don’t say it,” Keith grimaced, knowing what their only other option was. 

“We gotta take it up the stairs, man,” Lance said, looking apologetic. 

Keith let out a frustrated huff of air from his nose. 

_Fuck the stairs_

They moved the mattress towards the stairwell, staring up in vain. 

“Well,” Lance said, shaking out his shoulders. “Here we go. Don’t drop anything.”

Keith sent him an unamused look. 

They made it up the first set of stairs, easily. No big problem. The problem was the turn. 

Lance had chosen the widest mattress in the store. “I have specific comfort requirements,” he’d said. “My body is a _temple_.”

Keith rolled his eyes at the memory from a few hours ago. 

“We have to pivot,” Lance said, shifting the mattress sideways. 

“It won’t bend like that,” Keith said. 

“Yeah it will, trust me.” Lance sounded very assured. 

Keith sighed and pushed the mattress to his right, while Lance pulled towards his left. 

“Pivot!” Lance screamed. 

Keith pushed harder, but the mattress didn’t budge. 

“PIVOT!”

“I am!” Keith yelled back, turning around to push with his back. 

“P I V O T!” 

“Shut the FUCK up.”

Lance giggled. 

“This isn’t funny. And this isn’t working,” Keith said, slumping against the railing. 

“It worked on F.R.I.E.N.D.S.”

“Uh, no it didn’t. They returned the couch.” 

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Ah, so you understood my reference.”

Keith looked offended. “Of course, I’m not uncultured.”

Lance beamed. “See! We have something in common!” 

Keith frowned. Fuck. 

“Dude, we gotta binge the show, one day.”

Keith internally groaned. “Sure,” he said, with a pained expression. As much as he loved F.R.I.E.N.D.S., he really didn’t want to “bond” with Lance. He wanted to keep his distance. 

“Yeah!” Lance whooped, way too energetic for a broke, stressed, med school student. But wherever that energy came from, it helped pull the mattress up the next floor. 

“Great, now we only have to do this 19 more times,” Keith groaned. He didn’t remember how they managed to do it, but he did remember the _ache_ in his arms for the next three days. 

Once they finished bringing up the rest of their haul, Keith fell face-first on his own mattress. 

Thank fuck that was over. Never again would he go anywhere with Lance. He silently promised himself to keep his goddamn distance, because this guy was fucking crazy. 

Lance plopped down beside Keith, resting back on his arms. And he said words that killed Keith, inside. “We need groceries.”

Keith lifted his head up to look at him, and Lance might as well have been wearing a fucking lenny face. 

Great.


End file.
